


A Mess (Inside)

by itachitachi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Tsukishima Kei, Consensual Kink, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Face Slapping, I dance around it a bit but possibly, Kuroo is the provocative type :o, Long-Distance Friendship, Love/Hate, M/M, Self-Denial, University, Unromantic, what would tsukishima do without yamaguchi :o :o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you hate me, Tsukki?" Kuroo asks. "Tell me."</p>
<p>Somehow their fingers have interlaced, uncomfortably intimate. Tsukishima doesn't want to think about it; he buries his face in the sheets hard, until he feels like he can blame the burn in his cheeks on the friction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mess (Inside)

**Author's Note:**

> This took me forever to finish!! But now it's done!! \o/ Thanks to solovei for cheering me up about it. My quest for 30 works in November continues!
> 
> I made music during one of my long fits of writers' block. Find that [here](http://8tracks.com/itachitachi/love-or) if you like :) Enjoy!

It's messed up.

Maybe, more accurately, _he's_ messed up. Or _they're_ messed up.

Whatever. It works well enough.

&&&

"Get off of me," Tsukishima says. He's hot, body slick with sweat, and Kuroo on top of him isn't helping.

"I don't want to," Kuroo says, and licks Tsukishima's ear.

Tsukishima shivers, turning his head away. "You're disgusting."

"You like it," Kuroo whispers.

Tsukishima shoves him off.

&&&

It's simple and satisfying. They haven't done anything stupid like make promises aloud about not getting attached. It still runs underneath everything they do; the way Kuroo doesn't tell anyone where he goes after class, or how Tsukishima doesn't have Kuroo's name listed in his phone. When the text comes that night (all it reads is: _you want to?_ ) the sender's name is just _That Bastard_. Even that is a little too close to seeming affectionate, in Tsukishima's opinion. But there's really nothing else that suits Kuroo so well.

&&&

"What are you doing," Tsukishima asks flatly, when he comes out of his lecture hall to see Kuroo waiting against the opposite wall, holding steady against the flow of students.

"Waiting for you of course, Tsukki," Kuroo says, with a grin. "I was in the area."

"Like hell you were," Tsukishima says. "Don't call me that."

"Mmhmm," Kuroo agrees, grin widening.

Tsukishima doesn't wait to hear any more nonsense; he hitches his bag up higher on his shoulder and turns into the rush of bodies. Even if he knows Kuroo is following, he doesn't have to act like he cares.

&&&

"Fuck," Tsukishima says, curling his fingers into Kuroo's sheets. Kuroo curls his fingers into Tsukishima.

"You can beg for it anytime," Kuroo says. Tsukishima can hear the grin in his voice. "I'll wait."

"I'm not going to beg for your tiny dick," Tsukishima says into the mattress.

Kuroo doesn't say anything. Maybe he's pouting. Maybe, more likely, he's still grinning. He grips Tsukishima's hip, holding him still, and thrusts his fingers in harder, almost satisfying. Then, he slips two of them out, leaving only one.

"Fuck!" Tsukishima says, jerking. Kuroo's hand holds him down, and his finger presses in slow, too slim. It's like they're back at the beginning again, infuriating.

"I'll wait," Kuroo repeats.

&&&

"Do you have anything in this place but macaroni?" Tsukishima asks.

"No," Kuroo says, head hanging off the bed. He blinks lazily across at Tsukishima. "Not like your little dorm room is any better. At least I have a stove to cook the macaroni on. If you're hungry, go ahead and cook it."

"I'm the guest," Tsukishima says.

"And you're also the one who's hungry," Kuroo points out. He turns back up to his phone.

Tsukishima orders a pizza. He pays for it with the credit card he fishes out of Kuroo's discarded jeans, and eats half.

&&&

Sometimes Tsukishima misses Yamaguchi. In these moments, he holds his phone between his fingers and stares at the green _call_ button until the screen goes black. After thinking about it for long enough, he sometimes sends a text.

&&&

"Ready?" Kuroo asks. He's got Tsukishima's face tilted up with one fist in his hair. "You're sure?"

Tsukishima breathes in, and out. He's mostly dressed, but he feels naked without his glasses on. "Yeah," he says. "Do it."

It's gentle, more than it is anything else. Tsukishima's cheek stings faintly; Kuroo's thumb smooths the sting away.

"Again," he says. Kuroo looks at him, eyes heavy, and tilts Tsukishima's head a little farther back.

This one is solid.

Tsukishima gasps a bit, closing his eyes. He says, "Again." Then later, "again," and then three more times, until his face is burning from the impact.

By then, there's a ringing in Tsukishima's ears. He's panting and sagging; Kuroo's hand in his hair holds him up, good and tight.

Kuroo traces a circle on Tsukishima's hot cheek. "Want to fuck?"

Tsukishima groans, leaning in toward Kuroo as much as the hand in his hair will allow.

"I thought so," Kuroo says, and kisses him.

&&&

Late, when the only light in the room comes from the red-glowing face of Kuroo's alarm clock, Tsukishima stares across the bed at the splay of Kuroo's body. The rises and falls of his chest are steady. The curl of his hand beside his head is loose and natural; the skin of his wrist flutters minutely where blood rushes beneath. Under the mess of Kuroo's hair, Tsukishima can see that his eyes are closed. His eyelashes brush his cheeks, sunk in shadow.

Tsukishima sits up, letting the bedsheet fall to his waist. Slowly, he gets out of the bed.

"Night, Tsukki," Kuroo murmurs.

"...Night," Tsukishima says.

&&&

Yamaguchi calls him sometimes, out of the blue.

"You should get out more, Tsukki," he says this time, when he hears Tsukishima's voice. "Fresh air and sunshine will clear your head, you know?"

"Shut up, Yamaguchi," Tsukishima says, sour.

After the end of the call, though, he goes for a walk.

&&&

"Ah, I've taught you so well," Kuroo says, as his spike crashes to the floor by his feet.

Tsukishima's hands sting in an especially pleasant way. "The way you say that makes it sound like you've got no tricks left to teach me. How unfortunate that your skills are so limited, Kuroo-san."

"You're such a brat," Kuroo says, blowing him a kiss through the net. From the next court over, Lev hoots obnoxiously.

Tsukishima has never been able to decide whether or not he hates practice. In that way, at least, university volleyball is no different from any other kind.

&&&

Summer is unbearable as usual, too hot. Tsukishima stays in his dorm during one particularly bad heat wave, headphones semi-permanently affixed to his ears. The dorm is horrible, but it has air conditioning.

After dark one night, he hears an irregular thump through the deep beat of his music. When he lifts an earphone off, he realizes that someone's been knocking at his door.

"I'm here for your air-con," Kuroo says with a smile, when Tsukishima opens the door.

"Charming," Tsukishima says, but after a moment, opens the door a little bit wider.

&&&

It's not that Kuroo is important to Tsukishima. It's just that he— _scratches_ all of Tsukishima's _itches_ , sometimes without even having to ask what they are. Tsukishima can't stand the way Kuroo seems to read him. He's sure it's largely guesswork, but that just makes it even more unbearable, how often Kuroo guesses right.

&&&

Kuroo is moving too slowly, and he knows it. Tsukishima lies there for seven frustrating thrusts, eight, glaring up at Kuroo's usual smirk, before hooking his leg around Kuroo's waist and making his move.

"Ah," Kuroo hitches, breathless as his back hits the mattress. "You want to be on top, Tsukki? That's not like you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tsukishima says, readjusting himself to slide down on Kuroo's dick. _All_ the way down. Yes—that's it.

"I'm talking about the way you usually want me to hold you down and pound you until you can't think," Kuroo says, smiling. "You know."

"I don't," Tsukishima murmurs, closing his eyes as he fucks himself. Up, and down hard. He braces himself on Kuroo's chest, fingers slipping in sweat. It's difficult, but it's good.

"Don't you?" Kuroo breathes. His fingers come up to grip Tsukishima's wrists; there's only a heartbeat for Tsukishima to feel alarm before Kuroo flips them again.

"Really?" Tsukishima asks, glaring up at him. "You've just got to be on top, is that it?"

"You're acting like you don't like me," Kuroo says, pulling out and tapping Tsukishima's hip to get him onto his stomach. God help him, but Tsukishima turns over, face hot. "Do you dislike me, Tsukishima?"

Tsukishima opens his mouth to answer, but the only thing that comes out is a choked gasp as Kuroo fucks straight into him, hard and abrupt.

"Well, Tsukki?" Kuroo asks, his thrusts still slow but this time brutally hard. "Tell me what you think of me."

"Fuck," Tsukishima moans into the sheets, trying to brace himself somehow with his hands. "You're the worst, ugh—"

Kuroo's hands catch Tsukishima's, pinning them down. He leans in, the angle shifting until Tsukishima wants to cry, it's so good. "I can't hear you when you talk into the bed, Tsukki, you know that," Kuroo says. He squeezes at Tsukishima's hands until they hurt; Tsukishima can feel the shape of Kuroo's grin against his shoulder, his teeth. "Tell me so I can hear: do you like me, or not?"

"Fuck you," Tsukishima spits, raising his head. "I can't fucking _stand_ you, you know I can't—"

"Do you hate me, Tsukki?" Kuroo asks. "Tell me."

Somehow their fingers have interlaced, uncomfortably intimate. Tsukishima doesn't want to think about it; he buries his face in the sheets hard, until he feels like he can blame the burn in his cheeks on the friction.

"Or maybe I'm not so bad," Kuroo says, speeding up. "You like this, at least. I _know_ you like it when I fuck you."

"Fuck, I—" Tsukishima hisses. " _God_ , I hate you—I _hate_ you, ah—fuck—"

"Mmm, that's right," Kuroo murmurs into his shoulders, as he trembles. "I'm flattered."

Neither of them speaks again for a long time.

&&&

"You want to do something tonight, Tsukki?" Yamaguchi asks. His voice over the line feels far away, tinny. "A movie or something? I could get the train for the whole weekend. It's been a while, right?"

"...Maybe," is Tsukishima's answer. The word falls from his mouth like a drip of too-cold molasses; he feels like he's trapped in slow motion. "Could we do... tomorrow? Not tonight."

"Of course," Yamaguchi says. He sounds curious, but doesn't pry.

&&&

"You came on my shirt," Kuroo whines. "I can't walk home like this."

"Why not?" Tsukishima asks, not even opening his eyes. "You always look like a disgrace. It's not like anyone will notice anything different."

"Geez, you have no sympathy," Kuroo says, poking Tsukishima in the cheek. "Then, I guess I'll have to tell my roommate about you when he asks about the unusually filthy state of my clothes."

"Ugh," Tsukishima says, opening his eyes and swatting Kuroo away.

The stains are pretty obvious when he catches a look at them; Kuroo's shirt had been solid black, but it's now dotted with spots of partially-crusted white. Tsukishima flushes a little, seeing them, and closes his eyes again. When Kuroo starts snickering at him, he pulls the pillow over his face.

"Fine," he says through it, "you can borrow a shirt. Top drawer."

"Yeahhh!" Kuroo cheers. "I'm going to take the one with the dinosaur!"

Tsukishima flushes harder underneath the pillow, stomach churning.

Four of his shirts have dinosaurs.

&&&

"What the fuck is this?" Tsukishima asks, standing in the doorway.

"Cake, obviously," Kuroo tells him. "You already have glasses, but maybe you should think about—"

"My birthday was yesterday," Tsukishima interrupts, feeling stiff.

"Well, yeah," Kuroo says. "Obviously I couldn't give it to you then. Hey, are you even going to let me in?"

Tsukishima slams the door in his face, breathing hard.

Half an hour later, he opens the door and brings in the individual-sized cake in its box, left on the mat outside. He eats it on his bed, unable to stop scowling between bites. It's his favorite, and it's fucking delicious.

_Sorry_ , reads That Bastard's text message, a few hours later. _It was good though, right?_

Tsukishima doesn't reply.

&&&

"I saw a movie today, Tsukki," Yamaguchi says. "It reminded me of you, I think you'd like it. There was this guy—"

Yamaguchi rambles on; Tsukishima closes his eyes and listens. The ache that's been building in his temples over the past few days slowly starts to subside.

&&&

"You're a menace," Kuroo says, swabbing behind himself at the scratches Tsukishima's left on his back. "You could help me out, at least."

"Not my problem," Tsukishima says.

The truth is, his limbs feel too heavy to move, his eyelids too heavy to lift, his chest overly tight. He's lying in Kuroo's bed, but it doesn't feel real. He could sink right through the mattress to the ground, to the floor below, into the cold earth.

A hand touches Tsukishima's face, warm and firm, and then lips touch his as well. Tsukishima sighs into Kuroo's mouth more than he kisses back; it's messy, and it tastes bad, and it makes something inside of Tsukishima feel sore.

Tsukishima pushes Kuroo's face away eventually, his cheeks hot. "Don't kiss me like that," he says.

Kuroo laughs, flopping on the bed next to him. "Whatever you say, Tsukki."

&&&

All it comes down to is that it's going to have to end eventually.

Tsukishima thinks about this fact regularly. He might be the one to do it, when that day comes. He hears that it's good to be proactive on occasion.

&&&

"Oops, this one might be a bit too low," Kuroo says, pulling away.

"I _told_ you—" Tsukishima tries, but the crook of Kuroo's fingers against his prostate chokes him up.

"It's not a big deal," Kuroo says, grinning into Tsukishima's inner thigh. "Only perverts like me will look hard at your thighs during practice, anyway."

Tsukishima kicks him weakly in the side, and gets another bite in return, this one higher up his leg, where it will definitely—thankfully—be covered by his shorts. He nearly moans as Kuroo sucks at it, but manages to hold the sound in his throat.

"Don't be like that," Kuroo scolds, fingers changing their angle. Tsukishima can't help the rough gasp that falls out of him this time; he feels open, wet, marked up. Kuroo sucks another hickey into the skin of his hip, dark and painful as he continues his slow, steady fingering.

"Now," Tsukishima realizes, reaching down to touch Kuroo's hair. "I want it now."

"Wow, that was very close to asking nicely," Kuroo says, lifting his head.

Tsukishima closes his eyes, fingers drifting from Kuroo's sex-hair to the skin of his forehead, his temple, lingering at his cheek.

Kuroo sighs all at once, breath hot against Tsukishima's skin. "Okay, yeah," he says, withdrawing his fingers gently. "Now."

&&&

Tsukishima touches a thumb to the darkest bruise on the inside of his right thigh, presses in. It's been days and it still hurts.

_Now_ echoes through his chest. _Now. Now._ It's unbearable.

He was right, he decides.

&&&

That Bastard's text reads: _Want to come over?_

It isn't about wanting, Tsukishima thinks, turning his phone face-down. This is just the moment where the string has pulled taut. It's time to cut it.

_Too scared to come see me?_ That Bastard says, the next day.

It isn't about being scared, Tsukishima thinks—and in any case, this is a pathetically transparent attempt at provocation. When he catches a glimpse of Kuroo waiting outside his lecture hall the next day, he makes a point to avoid him.

_Definitely scared,_ That Bastard's next text reads.

&&&

"Do you want me to come visit again, Tsukki?" Yamaguchi asks. "Last time was fun. I really don't mind at all."

"It's fine, Yamaguchi," Tsukishima says.

&&&

"Hmm," Kuroo says, eying him top to toe. "Good to see you make it out."

"It's practice," Tsukishima says, pulling on his kneepads. "It's best to attend unless something important comes up."

Kuroo looks at him a bit longer, then shrugs, turning away. "See you on the court, then."

&&&

Tsukishima is aware that it should hurt a bit; he's let himself get attached somehow, after all. Still, the gritty feeling in the back of his chest is worse than he'd expected it to be. And it's taking longer to go away than he'd thought it would.

On Wednesday he sleeps through his alarm. When he wakes up, it's too late for him to catch his morning lecture. Instead of trying to get dressed, he just rolls over and goes back to sleep.

He misses his afternoon classes too, and then practice. He stares at the ceiling through the night, and then the next day.

The next time he leaves his building is Friday evening; he's hungry.

"Pathetic," he hisses, shoving his feet into his shoes. He itches all over, angry at something he can't quite grasp. He clings to the anger. It sucks, but it's better than feeling numb.

&&&

"I really can come if you want, Tsukki," Yamaguchi says, quiet.

"You have exams right now, don't you?" Tsukishima says. The short silence after that is Yamaguchi biting his lip. "Honestly. Look after yourself for once."

&&&

The days drag out like chewing gum.

After nearly a month, Tsukishima realizes that he probably shouldn't have cut things off with Kuroo. It's not as if his desires have gotten less insistent or fucked up. He feels itchy inside, disgusting. Worse, when he thinks about Kuroo even now, it takes a calculated effort to breathe evenly.

Regret is an annoying feeling. After an evening spent pinching idly at the skin of his wrists, until they are pink and scattered with curved nail marks, he gives in and picks up his phone.

_Hey. Are you at your place?_

That Bastard isn't holding much of a grudge; it's only a few minutes before he replies. _oh? why yes I am._

&&&

Tsukishima feels uncomfortable waiting outside Kuroo's door, like he hasn't since the earliest days of—whatever they had been. When Kuroo answers the door he's smiling, like usual. Though, the smile is darker than Tsukishima remembers.

"Nothing's changed, as you can see," Kuroo says, waving his arms at the inside of the apartment as he leads Tsukishima to his bedroom. Kuroo's floor is a mess of clothes, and his sheets are a mess at the foot of the bed; he always kicks them there in his sleep. "It's almost like you were never gone."

Tsukishima breathes in slowly through his nose, clearing a space on the floor with a careful sweep of his foot.

"So, why are you back?" Kuroo asks, turning to glance at him. "What do you want?"

Tsukishima takes his glasses off, not looking up. He folds them and tucks them into his shirt collar, then sinks carefully to his knees in the space he'd cleared.

"Oh, Tsukki," Kuroo says. "Really?"

Tsukishima flushes, but keeps his chin straight. It's too late to hide, anyway.

Kuroo steps into place, cupping Tsukishima's cheek and tilting his face up a bit. "You're lovely, as always," he murmurs, leaning down for a kiss.

"Just do it," Tsukishima says, against Kuroo's mouth.

Kuroo doesn't say anything; just pulls back, and slaps Tsukishima across the face.

It's harder than Kuroo's usual first strike, and Tsukishima's left panting—stinging, a bit dazed, wondering if Kuroo is _angry_. A second slap could follow right behind the first, it could really hurt—

Kuroo kisses him instead, palms warm against his cheeks. He kisses dizzyingly, desperately, long, drawing it out until Tsukishima's fingers and toes tingle, and then he pulls back and slaps Tsukishima again.

&&&

"I slept in this every night, Tsukki," Kuroo drawls later, pulling at the collar of the dinosaur shirt.

"You're disgusting."

"I didn't wash it once. Not even after it stopped smelling like you."

"You're _disgusting_."

"I don't want to give it back," Kuroo tells him, eyes heavy-lidded.

"Maybe I don't want it back now."

"Don't you? Mm."

&&&

Things are the same, and things are also different. Perhaps Tsukishima should have expected it, since nothing can happen exactly the same way twice.

It's not unbearable.

&&&

"Whatever happened, I'm glad," Yamaguchi says.

Tsukishima glances over. "What do you mean?"

Yamaguchi smiles, shaking his head. "Maybe it's nothing, but. It's good to see you like this. You seemed really down for a while, you know?"

Tsukishima clenches his teeth around a sigh. "Yeah," he says, as the lights in the theater start to dim. "I know."

&&&

_"Fuck," Tsukishima whispers, feeling the sting of Kuroo's slap in his cheeks. His eyes are stinging too, wetness prickling at the corners. He blinks quickly, shivering when Kuroo leans down to press their foreheads together._

_"I can't do this, Tsukishima," Kuroo says quietly. "Not right now."_

_Tsukishima breathes out, long, not quite steadily. "I'll go, then."_

_"No," Kuroo says, gripping tight at his shirt, "don't. Don't you dare."_

_"Fine," Tsukishima says._

_His cheeks still feel hot, and his eyes still sting. The longer Kuroo sits there pressing against him, the worse it gets._

_How annoying._

&&&

"I can hear you thinking, Tsukki," Kuroo whispers, after dark. "Quiet down."

Tsukishima only blinks. He's been staring at Kuroo's profile, highlighted in red from the glow of the alarm clock.

"We're different," Kuroo says, shifting. His head turns, features slipping into darkness. "We've always been different, yeah? But we both want each other. There's nothing messed up about that."

Tsukishima snorts, rolling toward him. His fingers find Kuroo's somehow, in the dark.

It's all messed up.

That said, it's not unbearable.


End file.
